


Perfect

by BecaAMM



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-20 16:57:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11339592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecaAMM/pseuds/BecaAMM
Summary: You think of yourself as a mess, but Steve thinks you’re perfect just the way you are.





	Perfect

“Did I check on the door?” You looked at Steve.

“Yes.”

You nodded, laying your head back on the pillow, and Steve’s arm tightened around you.

“What about the windows?”

“You did.” He affirmed sweetly. “And the over, and every single alarm in the system.”

You blushed, taking a deep breath and waiting for a moment. You couldn’t help.

“I’ll go give it a look.” You affirmed, leaving and checking the whole apartment all over again. 

When you got back to the room, your boyfriend was waiting for you, sat on the bed.

“Done?” He asked.

You nodded and sat down, moving your hands through your hair.

You had OCD and anxiety, among other problems, and it could be hellish. It was a struggle most of the time, and you honestly didn’t know how Steve could take it. When you got together, he already knew about it, but it never got as bad as it was now.

“Why are you still with me?” You muttered, not looking at him.

You felt as your boyfriend moved and sat by your side, holding your hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m chaotic.” You said, looking up at Steve and feeling his baby blue eyes burning your gaze.  “I’m a mess, Steve. You don’t want to be with me.”

He frowned.

“Y/N, I don’t…”

You shook your head.

He was perfect. Steve Rogers, Captain _fucking_ America, the perfect man who deserved the perfect woman and not you. No, you were just a weak, pathetic mess he shouldn’t have to deal with.

“I’m a mess, Steve.” You repeated.

“You’re not.”

“I’m afraid of everything.” You affirmed, looking up at him. “I’m afraid of open spaces, of the subway, of buses, cab drivers, Uber drivers, large groups of people, small groups of people walking in the street.” You listed. “I’m afraid of the noise you make when you walk to my door because I always think someone is trying to break in. I’m afraid of parties, and I’m afraid of being alone. I always think the house will catch fire if I don’t check the over 18 times before going to be, and I’m afraid the door will open alone each time I use some restroom in a place I’ve never been in, so I lock and unlock the door 9 times.”

While you spoke, you couldn’t stop the tears falling from your eyes.

“If I leave home, I have to be ready a whole hour earlier, because there’s too much I need to check before leaving. I fear people looking at me. Every single time I leave home, I can see each one of the bad things that can happen to me, and each time you say you’re going to a mission I think of everything that can go wrong.” You continued. “My mind never stops. _Ever_. I spend 24 hours a day…”

But he interrupted you. His hands cupped your face and his lips covered yours with passion and affection, in a slow kiss that you’ve never imagined you could experience. He kissed you gently, calmly, appreciating your taste and touch.

“I don’t care.” He said, abandoning your lips and connecting your foreheads. “Y/N, I don’t care.”

You shook your head, refusing to open your eyes.

“You don’t understand, Steve.” You whispered.

“I do.” He corrected you. “And I don’t care.”

You felt the tears falling from your eyes and your voice breaking.

“I can’t give you what you need.” You cried.

“You can.” He affirmed. “I don’t care if you have OCD or if you see yourself as defective, you are _perfect.”_

He circled you with his arms, and you rested your head on his chest, and he caressed your hair.

“You’re perfect.”


End file.
